July 4th, 2009

eureka, bath

Hermit in the boiling pot

It turns out that normal residents of this apartment complex occasionally come out of their caves during daylight hours and socialize with other residents, or walk their dogs, or smoke, or something besides quick and furtive trips to get mail, take care of rubbish and recycling, and head to and from the car.

After meaning to for some time, I finally took a trip in the direction of the complex's small hot tub. I am happy to report that the disastrously ripped blue sports bra does its new assigned job excellently. (See, if you want a swimsuit that's not ordered from some obscure catalog or a custom job, you can either be my size or have tits the size of cantaloupes, but not both at the same time.) Now, instead of having my rack supported by a noose tied around my neck, the aforementioned sports bra provides support while the bathing suit supplies coverage and style, and the built-in bra-like-substance does none of the above.

An artist's conception of Miss Lunatic in bathing costume: Sketch of Azz, rendered in gel-pen and highlighters on the back of an envelope, of Azz wearing a bathing costume with a short skirt, sneakers, with a checked towel wrapped around her and draped over her forearms.

I had meant to go earlier in the day, even, but dawdled on my way out. Thus, I arrived ten minutes short of the posted closing time.

There were already several people there when I arrived. Collapse )
hinky, pure evil fuckery afoot


Went over to my aunt's house this morning after perhaps not enough sleep. See, some time back the whole family signed up for a tango event (week-long), and of course one does not get prior notice of pet medical emergencies.

Deacon's flank is ugly. The crazed Dalmatian took out a big chunk of skin, and the vet sewed up the rectangular gash diagonally, so the skin isn't quite even, in a sort of alarming fashion. He's all shaved. I'll try and get a picture, poor thing.

He's on doggie pain meds, and my aunt showed me a nifty two-treat trick. If Deacon is given the time to think about it, he will extract a pill from a treat with his tongue, and spit it out. However, if you give him a pill concealed in a treat, and follow it up with another, he will scarf down the first one (with the pill) so he can grab the second one. Oh, dog psychology. (Note: probably would not work on the poodle.)

Deacon is not allowed to hump or be humped, lick his stitches, take stairs, run around excessively, or roll in the yard. (He is allowed to lick his front legs and/or his dick. Licking the poodle's dick is frowned on because this often leads to humping.) Much humping is being forestalled by keeping them apart; if Deacon gets too licky he may wind up wearing the Cone of Shame.

I conked out for a nap for a while, because it looked like Deacon had the right idea. I did not wake up when my aunt called to check in; I did wake up when my best friend called. ♥ He was watching TV and thought of me. So he called. And we chattered. We watched pretty much the whole episode like that. I caught him up to date on some stuff. It was good. He'll be out for a while thanks to a family gathering. I don't even know if I have any relatives left in Iowa. (I appreciate so much that he's now in the habit of checking in with me before he goes out of contact. 1996 left some deep scars, man.)

There was a bit of a tricky moment when it looked like Deacon hadn't gotten his antibiotics with his dinner, but he did get them in the end.

Evidently great fun was had at the tango event. There are instructors who are slashier than Sam and Dean. (Much to the shock and horror of all involved, I shared something truly horrible with raranax last night, thanks to norabombay.)

I brought home pizza from Papa Murphy's. My cousin borrowed my beret. Despite the lure of fireworks, I think it's time for an early night.

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